


Only For You

by SouthernSunshine



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 17:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15912507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernSunshine/pseuds/SouthernSunshine
Summary: Cricket and Clover.A forgotten album, with forgotten lyrics.But not forgotten feelings; and they know that all too well.





	Only For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _These nightmares always hang on past the dreams_

I pluck the strings on my guitar, softly humming along to whatever I’m playing. It doesn’t fit. Maybe if I write something first—

Something soft hits the tiles. A big sigh from the kitchen.

I roll my eyes. Not again.

Lifting my head from my instrument, I look around the cabin and see yet another pancake flat on the floor by Spencer’s feet.

“Why are you wasting all of our food?” Jon asks, without any emotion in his voice. Probably too tired to even make it sound like he cares.

That makes two of us; last night was rough.

We’ve only been here for a week and things are flowing pretty well, but we can’t seem to make up our minds about the direction of the album. Surprisingly enough, the new songs we've written so far are nothing like our first record. That's not necessarily bad, but there are so many ways this could go that we can't decide. Everybody wants to do _something_ on each song, and everybody has the capacity to do so. That doesn't make things any easier. Luckily Ryan's got the theme for the album all figured out, though. A story; an affair. I think it fits our current state.

When I look at Jon he’s seemingly unbothered, writing lines onto the paper he’s been bent over since an hour ago. Which is also around the time Spencer started cooking.

Let’s just say that we’re still hungry.

“I’m not wasting anything. Not my fault these pans can’t take a good pancakeflipping.”

"Pretty sure that's not a word, Spence."

Spencer scoffs and bows down to the ground, picking up the, now cold and probably dirty, pancake.

I look at the fireplace where Ryan is sitting, tuning his guitar. His hair is down, no product in it; lazy sunday afternoon in the cabin. The length of it just a little longer than when we were touring for Fever.

A couple of weeks ago at some afterparty, he said that he wants a bowlcut later on. When I first heard it, I laughed. The almost-hairdresser in me utterly shocked. He was offended, but he showed no signs of changing his mind. _If you want that impossible-to-pull-off-haircut, you have to do something else that's impossible first,_ I told him. A stupid proposition in exchange for a stupid idea. _What's that then?_ He laughed.  _Fall in love with me._  He smiled and went silent. I didn't know what to make of that.  

He hasn't brought up a haircut since.

His lips are pursed together, focusing on the right tuning. Long fingers turning the knobs on his guitar. He tilts his head slightly to the side, so that I'm in his line of sight.

He looks up at me and we exchange a quick smile. My stomach flips. The melodies in my head suddenly click. They shouldn't. Not because of him. 

I hear Jon’s pen drop.

“Can you just make us some toast? You've been in the kitchen for over an hour and it's clearly not working out. And hearing you sigh every ten minutes is getting on my nerves. If you haven't noticed, I'm trying to write a song here. We're all hungry dude.”

Jon finally looks up from his papers towards Spencer, who is staring back at him. I’d never heard Jon annoyed, but I guess writing an album takes a toll on all of us at some point.

Ryan, who was sitting on the ground, gets up and leaves the room to do God knows what. He takes his guitar with him. People fighting has always been an issue. He's seen enough of that in his childhood. I see Spencer’s eyes wandering to Ryan's form for a second before he focuses back on Jon.

“I’m the only one in here making an effort for any of this to work out, but you know what? Fine. And I'm not referring to the cooking!”

Dramatically turning away from Jon and me, Spencer throws the pans in the sink. I flinch because of the sound.

He storms out of the kitchen towards one of the doors that lead outside, opening the one closest to him and with that he’s gone.

Jon shrugs, lifts his eyebrows, pickes up his pen and continues writing.

Not wanting to be in here anymore, I announce that I’m gonna go find Ryan. See how he’s doing. I don't wait around for a response from Jon. I set down my guitar and get up from the couch I was sitting on. The cabin isn’t a maze, so finding Ryan should be somewhat easy.

I thought.

Having looked in every possible room, I give up.

That is, until I hear a soft voice coming from the roof. Wait, the roof?

The only way to the roof is through the attic. And everyone knows that bad things happen in attics. I’d be stupid to wander through there. I can already hear Ryan laughing at me: _did you really think I was on the roof? And you actually went there?_ But then again, where else could he be?

I climb the small, wooden stairs that lead up to the attic.

I hate this I hate this I hate this. What I do for this boy.

There’s spiders everywhere; dust and cobwebs covering the not-so-tall-walls. Suddenly I feel claustrophobic.

I decide to focus on his singing, rather than the feeling of seven different insects crawling into my pants. I can barely hear it, but it sounds like something new. I haven’t heard this before.

 _True love’s old fashioned_  
_True love is antique_

The words are uncertain, as if they've been lying around somewhere in the back of his mind but he's not sure how to put them into song. As if he's reminiscing something only he is allowed to know about. True love. It's not Keltie, I know that much. He's never been clear about his intentions towards me, but I know that he isn't in love. Or is he? I hope so. Wait, what am I thinking? 

I reach the window and climb through it, probably making way too much noise. Ryan’s slim, he’d probably fit easily through any windowframe. Not me. My butt’s too big for that.

That’s one of the things he likes about me, though. 

He’s still singing when I reach the roof. Eyes closed. He looks so peaceful, as if he’s not completely here. His mind elsewhere, channeling whatever he can find in his mind. The mind that someday I hope he will fully let me explore.

I let out a deep breath. He stops playing, now aware that I’m next to him.

His eyes open and his head turns to me, looking straight into my eyes. His have small specks of brown in them, especially in the outside lighting. Long lashes, strong cheeckbones, but soft lips. Have I realized before that he kind of looks like a girl? An attractive one, nonetheless.

“Hey there, featherfingers”, he says to me. A slight smirk places itself on his face. 

I remember applying make-up on him before one of our last Fever shows. He looked too fragile to touch that night. When he asked me to draw the black lines on his face, I made sure not to grab him too harsh. Afterwards he told me my touch felt like a feather gracing his skin. He never stopped calling me that awful nickname, but I didn't mind.  

“Hey, I came to check on you. Also I didn’t want to be in that room anymore. Vibe’s kinda off, don’t you think?” I joke, but I give him a half-hearted smile, letting him know that I understood why he walked out. 

His grin disappears and he nods. I shuffle myself closer to him, our knees touching now, his guitar awkwardly in his lap.  

“Were you writing a new one? I didn’t recognize the words.”

His eyebrows lift for a moment and he blinks. His head turns away from mine, eyes now looking at the forest surrounding us. 

“Yeah, it’s, um. What did you hear?”

I tell him what I caught and he nods once again, but he doesn’t seem to care to elaborate more on the song, so I don’t ask.

It's barely noon and the sun's just starting to peek through the clouds, giving us a source of warmth. The cabin is literally in the middle of nowhere. I hadn't taken in the view yet, nor had I realised that I'm sitting on a roof that is way too high above the ground. I look down and my eyes must have noticeably widened, because Ryan takes my hand. It doesn't help much and actually startles me so that that I almost slip, but I feel the warmth of his hand on mine and that's not something that I want to give up right now. Or ever, maybe even.

"I named it True Love. Been on my mind for a while now, but I hadn't really found a sound for it. It must be something about the air here. Makes me write just as much as rabbits fuck." 

Ryan is still looking off into the distance, but his thumb is tracing small patterns on my upperhand. There's always a reason behind every word that boy says, I've learned that by now. He might not be looking at me, but he sees me. I know he does. 

I smile to myself. A feeling of victory; of having him all to myself, knowing that this is where he wants to be. Where he _needs_ to be. 

"What'd you say we go find Spencer? From up here I could see him moping around somewhere past that big tree." 

He squeezes my hand before letting go, nudging me with his knee to get up too. But right when I get up from my cross-legged position, I misplace my foot and I trip.

Everything happens too fast. One second I'm looking down and the next I'm falling. I can see Ryan's face, but he's not stretching out his arms. He's not even yelling. He just stands there.

His figure gets smaller and smaller, and I'm falling quickly but it feels like forever. Eventually, I hit the ground and all fades to white.

* * *

 

Gasping, I wake up in a cold sweat. Good, Sarah's next to me. I'm wearing my wedding ring. What the fuck was that? 

It's okay, I'm here. That wasn't real. Was never real. Maybe part of it was. Breathe. I'm alive. Just a nightmare. One that started out as a dream, but nonetheless a nightmare. I never fell. Or well, I never fell down from that roof, but I guess I did fall in a way that wasn't physical. 

The covers are at my feet and I pull them up, trying not to wake the sleeping beauty by my side. Man, I sure thrashed around quite a lot, then.

I turn on my side, back towards her face. I can't face her after the dream I just had. The last thing I hear before drifting off again, is a familiar voice lulling me to sleep. A voice that I shouldn't have been dreaming about in the first place, but lately can't seem to shake off my mind. Always there, a neverending song.  

 

 

_True love is scarce  
_

_As crossed as prickles and thorns  
_

_On juniper trees  
_

_True love is rare_

_My sweetie, falling in love is ours_

 

_I still believe._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there. I was going to make this a one-shot at first, but I got kind of attached to the idea of the storyline. So I decided to just see where this ends up and with how many chapters. This prologue is short, but hey, its a prologue. Anyways, let me know what you think in the comments and enjoy! Or not. Bye!


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